


There is more to asexuality than you might think.

by talkswithwind



Category: Original Work
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, F/F, Original Fiction, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 13:15:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2813276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkswithwind/pseuds/talkswithwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nichole Tailor's team did really well at a national Call of Duty: Black Ops tournament. During a post-game interview she mentioned she was asexual and married. That raised some eyebrows, and she has been getting a lot of quiet questions about that. She has healed enough she decided to talk about it and how she realized she's ace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There is more to asexuality than you might think.

Feb 9, 2015 9:18pm

I've gotten a lot of questions in the last few months about my asexuality, and I think it's the right time to spend some words on it and what spurred me to notice it.

 **Trigger warnings for** : implied rape, sexual assault, non-consensual pretty much everything.

I triggered just writing it, but that's part of why I'm doing it. I've always been ace, I just didn't figure it out until after spending time enslaved to a mind-controller (I can be dense. Really dense). That story is part of the whole narrative, so I'm talking about it for the first time.

Yes, I'm asexual.  
No, I really don't like having sex.  
Yes, I'm married and we do have sex.  
No, you probably didn't expect that  
Yes, I'm still an asexual. This is not hypocrisy.  
No, it's not rape. It's a deep expression of love.  
Yes, people do things for love that they'd otherwise rather not do.

I figured out I was ace when talking to the therapist who was figuring out just how damaged I was and what kind of therapy to send me into. We hadn't even gotten to talking about my experiences in captivity yet. We were talking about my extensive pre-slavery sex life.

She said, “Have you considered the possibly you might be asexual?”

I scoffed at that. I'd had w-a-y too much sex for _that_ to be a possibility. Hell, I was good at sex. Always well reviewed. Your satisfaction was my satisfaction. I took pride in that.

Mom was a 70's flower-child hippie and she raised her daughters to be completely unafraid of sex. So long as it was on our own terms. By the time I graduated college, I thought myself a 50/50 bisexual. I had even done a couple of threesomes, though I don't recommend the experience. Sex-positive, that's me.

I even knew an asexual in college. He was one of the asshole-asexuals, who couldn't help but club you over the head with how disgusting he found sex any time the topic came up. Such as in movie theaters. I certainly wasn't one of _them_.

I slept on it after talking to the therapist.

I got up the next morning for a run, and did a little online digging before heading out. Read an interesting wiki. Ran. Thought. Kept running. Got home.

She was right. I was ace.

I didn't like sex.

Not the act itself, anyway. And every single one of my relationships had died when I cut down on the sex I'd put up with, or were friend-with-benefits with no expectation of commitment. I usually lost a friend after the sexing started then stopped. Not because of the friend, but their new partners didn't like having me around. I was _just fine_ with the friend-zone, liked it better in fact.

What I got out of sex was giving a good friend a good time. Their happiness and wonder made me happy. So I decided to become good at it, and I did.

I was lucky, though. A lot of asexuals figure out they're ace after their first couple of sexual encounters and come away... disgusted. My choice of first fuck-buddy had a truly delightful reaction to our coupling and I was charmed, even though it hurt a lot for me (turns out I really do need lube). I didn't bounce off of my first few experiences, in fact it taught me that I had the power to make that boy extremely happy.

I really didn't like the mess, though. Mom had given me some shockingly direct sex-ed lessons (or so my friends claim, I've always found them entirely practical and wish more people had it). I was told about dental-dams at the same time I was given tips on how to get a condom on a reluctant penis. I was remarkably good at not letting wet bits touch. A few boyfriends tried to talk me out of condoms, but there was no way I was putting up with _that_. Ew.

Walking in the back door after my run I realized that my ideal relationship was one I'd been having for the previous two years, and I'd left that woman sleeping when I went out for my run.

You see, our slaver, whom I shall call Fuckhead, was of the harem-building type. My wife was picked up early because she was hot and had organizational skills. I was picked up later because I was hot and made a fair amount of money. We were surrounded by enslaved women. Women with jobs that fed into his bank accounts. Women that stayed at home to deal with chores. Women who were there just to look pretty and be bored. All of us were subjected to bedroom duty, though. And Fuckhead had a group of friends. Friends he shared his harem with.

No one had sex unless he told us to. That was practically Rule One.

I was also his first capture that had previous experience fucking women. I ended up doing a fair amount of on-the-job training of other captives on how to sell it for an audience. The others knew I wouldn't hurt them, so they always looked relieved when we were paired. It was a little defiance we could afford.

As an aside, of the issues I'm still working through in therapy, the non-consensual sexual contacts aren't the big thing. They're minor. I think it's because sex has always been an act for me. Anyway.

I was never put to the woman who would become my wife, though. Fuckhead noticed we were kind of friendly, so explicitly forbade us to have sex. It was his idea of a joke. Which was compounded when he sent the two of us to the great state of Minnesota to try and found a second house for him.

Which we did, because rules are rules. It amused him terribly.

Nine months after we moved in, the Feds arrested him. Which left me and my future-wife all alone in that house. When he refused to clean up our commands, we were both looking at a lifetime of living together with the rituals he had given us.

Happily, we really were friends. Good ones. She held me in the dark weeks after the conviction when I was looking at a lifetime of spending my weekends in a cage in the basement. I did a lot of ugly crying, and her shoulders got very damp. She stood by me when I tried to find ways to get around the commands. I made her dinner when she was incapable due to a ritual. The circumstances of our Fuckhead-given rules prevented me from helping as much as I wanted to.

I didn't know she had been harboring a crush on me since practically the day we moved into that house. Rule One prevented her revealing it, and I can be dense. It was during those not quite two years of enforced celibacy that we learned how to have a close, intimate relationship with nothing even remotely close to sex. As I walked in that back door I realized that I'd been living my perfect relationship with that woman, and I _dearly_ wanted it to continue.

Knowing what I was meant my future-wife and I could set the ground rules for what our physical relationship would look like. That provided the foundation for the rest of our lives as it meant our relationship was the first in which I was fully honest with myself. In that kitchen, while I was massaging my legs to get them to hold me up for a shower, she confessed her crush to me. I knew we still had a lot of work to do, but it meant I wasn't going to lose her.

The asexual community has a range of terms for describing individual attraction beyond the merely sexual. I am a demi-romantic. In part it means I don't form crushes on anyone I'm not already close friends with. My wife is one of three people I actually felt romantic towards. Knowing I was ace meant I knew to not expect sexual feelings, which enhanced the _romantic_ feelings I had.

My wife is a full romantic. Which is awesome for us. Yay.

Another term is aesthetic-attraction. I had that for both sexes. I know hot when I see it in anyone, and I can spend hours staring at the right person. And, er, have. That may have been creepy. Sorry, love. I had noticed that my future-wife was very good looking back before we moved to MN. She noticed me noticing, which only fed her crush. More awesome for us.

But there were some areas where we didn't have complementary drives. A sex drive: she has one. A strong one. I didn't.

Her experiences with Fuckhead were much different than mine. I was forgotten in the basement when I wasn't being called out to give a good show. She lived in the center of his eye for two and a half years. I call her the strongest woman I know. Eventually she'll believe me. Her own recovery from that trauma meant that she was willing to do just about anything to keep me, the one good thing to come out of that experience, around.

We talked. I said I was asexual, but knew she was sexual and needed it. And I would be willing to have sex with her, but it had to be at a pace I could maintain. We couldn't bang like bunnies for a few months before dropping down to a more 'easy' few times a week pace. If we did that I'd burn out really quick, and I couldn't do that to her.

There is another complication that confuses people about asexuals. Some of us have libidos. I masturbate every so often because it feels good. It turns out I don't like other people trying to get me off because they invariably try to get fancy, and it pisses me the hell off. Straight to the point, no fancy work. That's me.

She agreed to try it at my pace. I relished that first time because it was my chance to show her how much I loved her. I used a lot of the tricks I've learned over the years. I learned her. I figured out what made her squeak. It was a completely one-sided thing; I ran her so hard she never got a chance to offer reciprocation, which was a relief for me.

Once or twice a month is about all I can manage. I do it for love. We've learned the ways I can help and respect my own boundaries at the same time. My experiences under Fuckhead magnified my body-fluids squick, so our sex involves a lot of barriers. I have no idea how she 'tastes' and the idea of finding out turns my stomach.

I also encourage her masturbation. I was raised by a hippie after all, and I never wanted her to attach shame to being observed while performing self-care. I'm sure she fantasizes about me being sexual, and I'm OK with that. It turns out she can sometimes get sexual fulfillment from me without me ever touching her. A few of the right words at the right time, throw in some bedroom eyes, and magic happens.

This is something asexuals who enter into long-term relationships with sexuals figure out. Some of us do what I did, and have sex with our partners sometimes. Others won't go that far, but will assist their partner in self-care. Still others let their partners have sexual relationships outside of their own, and look the other way.

We had another issue to get over, though. I have a powerful cuddle-drive. I get really touchy-touchy with the people I like, and I _really_ like my wife. I couldn't indulge during our captivity because of Rule One, but once we were freed I was all over her. Whenever we were both on the couch, I was snuggling her. She tells me that I never let go of her all night. I know many women who would go bonkers if subjected to that. I'm so very happy that my wife puts up with me.

We've since learned that if I fuck her the right way, she gets very cuddly when we're done. Which is eleventy kinds of awesome for me. Yes, cuddly-aftersex is my main event. The rest is just elaborate foreplay.

We're sure we're set for the rest of our lives. So much so, we're trying to have kids. This is one area where I _want_ to emulate my mom when it comes to sex-ed (grandma will help with that of course, she's like that). When we're both through therapy, it should be even awesomer.

We're a team, and we always will be.

* * *

I've glossed over a lot of what happened to me under Fuckhead, it will probably be years before I can talk details. A friend of mine is an army vet who spent two tours in Iraq repairing combat vehicles and scraping friends out of them after IEDs. She recognized my PTSD as similar to her own. Like her, I'm going to spend a lifetime trying to climb down from that. The nightmares are down to only a few nights a week (having my wife in bed with me HELPS SO MUCH. I haaaaate it when she's away for a few days. The cage-bars come back.) I haven't had a straight up flashback in months. Ashley has been a great help, even if her war was different than mine.

I came to be a semi-famous person after my team's showing at the Black Ops tournament in NYC this past December. FPS games were a large part of how I stayed sane on weekends after the conviction. It gave me focus, and an outlet. My wife has supported me in this after we were freed, as I support her in her own hobbies (I can now hang drywall).

I haven't given my wife's name because she asked me not to. Her healing isn't yet at the place where she can talk about her experiences to strangers, and I ask you to respect that.

Thank you for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a side-note to a much larger work, one that isn't anywhere near ready for sharing. But she demanded to write this, and I dutifully wrote it down.
> 
> Confused tenses and run-on sentences are in character. It's meant to be a minimally edited blog-post.


End file.
